


Sunshine Rain

by chararii



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/F, Fluff, I don't know what this format is called to be honest, Mild Smut, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Short & Sweet, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26361052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chararii/pseuds/chararii
Summary: She comes with the rain and you never forget her for the rest of your life.
Relationships: Tsunade (Naruto)/Original Female Character(s), Tsunade (Naruto)/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 75





	Sunshine Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Trying something new again, mostly because I want to practise getting more comfortable with smutty themes. Also because I had to channel all those lesbian shows I watched recently into something. Hope you enjoy! :)

Your life is pretty normal, as lives go. Boring. Standard. You work in the same backwater village you grew up in, wait tables during the day and serve sake at night. Nothing interesting has ever happened to you which, if the tales you occasionally hear from wandering shinobi, is a good thing. There's no conflict in Fire's most remote corner in the middle of nothingness. No cutthroat bandits. Not much trade either but that's okay. You make do.

You don't get many visitors. In truth, you're rather certain that your village doesn't even show up on most maps. Every once in a while a group of shinobi passes through and stays for a single night. Rarely, travelling civilians. Either happens so rarely that whenever it does, it's the only thing people in your village talk about for weeks. You're late for your shift, so late that you missed the bulk of the gossip. The streets are empty as they tend to be past nightfall. You expect a quiet evening with only a few regulars.

You're wrong.

You notice the odd one out immediately. On a table that's never occupied, in a dark corner of the bar, sits a woman. She's the centre of attention for all she doesn't seem to care much. You can see why. Her hair is soft and glossy, a bright blonde that's entirely unnatural for the dark-haired people of this region. Your gaze drops lower to her chest, then you remember your manners and swiftly change into your work clothes. You pride yourself on being professional. And judging from the amount of bottles already in front of the stranger, she has enough money to give your village a much needed bit of extra cash. You'll show her your best side and that includes ignoring her impressive measurements.

“Good evening. Is there anything you need?” you ask, polite smile on your face and tray in front of your body. The woman tilts her head sideways, looks at you through heavy-lidded eyes. It's quite dark yet in the low candlelight, they almost seem to shimmer in a colour reminiscent of molten gold. You swallow.

“Two more, sunshine.” You blink twice, then nod and march off. Sunshine. Odd. You shake your head and fetch the bottles, mind more focused on the soft velvety texture of the woman's voice. It's deeper than you would've thought, doesn't quite match her youthful appearance. You still reckon that she has a few years on you. And young civilian women don't travel alone.

When you return with her order, you take a second to look a little closer. Most of her upper body is covered by a dark green haori and wide sleeves are a little tighter close to her shoulders. The woman shifts and the cloth strains against the shape of bulky muscle. Throat suddenly dry, you simply bow your head once and scurry off.

You're not terrified. Of course not. But your face is flushed and you don't know what to make of it. So what if she's attractive. It doesn't mean anything. You force yourself to get your head in the game and wander over to your uncle and his friends who are indulging in their third round of drinks. The farther you get away from this stranger, the easier you can breathe.

She's watching you. You don't dare acknowledge her but you feel her eyes on you, wherever you go. It's an entirely new feeling and you wonder whether you're simply impressively conscious of other people's attention or if this woman has a secret ninja trick to make her stares more tangible. You disappear in the bathroom for a second, check your appearance. Nothing is out of place, no stains on her clothing, not a single hair out of place.

You're not the most attractive young woman in the village, neither are you the smartest. Instead, you're a combination of both, possess either quality in average amounts. It's a combination that has served you well in your quest to be well-regarded yet invisible enough to never be involved in any sort of village scandal. You have a single suitor who you're likely to marry in a few years but other than that you don't exactly turn heads. Except this stranger keeps watching. Looking. Staring. It makes your skin itch in an not entirely unpleasant way and you wonder what it is about her that makes you so on edge. It's probably the novelty of the situation. What else could it be?

“Sunshine. Bring me another,” the woman demands from her corner without raising her voice. She doesn't need to. The bar is deserted and if it weren't for her, you would've closed and went home an hour ago. You stop for a moment, breath caught in your throat. Then you do as she asks. When you approach the table, her golden eyes follow your every move and without warning, you feel like you are the prey and she is your hunter.

“Here,” you murmur as you place the bottle in front of her. You mean to turn around and perhaps clean the counter for the third time when she bends a single finger and waves you closer.

“I, uh, I have to clean-” you try but she merely raises an eyebrow. Of course. She's been watching you all night, she's fully aware that you cleaned every single surface in this bar at least twice. You swallow once more, then try to hide your shaking hands behind your back and sit down opposite of her.

She doesn't seem interested in talking to you. The woman gave up on using a cup long ago and slowly sips on her eleventh bottle. You can't help but wonder how she's still able to sit, much less seem mostly coherent. Her cheeks are reddened and her eyes not fully opened yet none of her movements is clumsy or careless. Your eyes get stuck on her lips when she drains the bottle dry before you remember yourself and stare at the table instead.

“How old are you, sunshine.” It's not a question. The woman demands, is rough without being rude yet it's clear that she doesn't expect to be denied. You look at her and ask yourself if anyone ever attempted to deny her anything.

“Nineteen,” you reply, causing the stranger to snort.

“Basically a child,” she murmurs to herself and then suddenly, it's like you're not there anymore. She's quiet, doesn't look at you. You try to ignore the budding disappointment in your stomach and eventually get up to clean the bar for the third time. The woman lets you go without protest. You don't even know what you were expecting yet somehow still feel let down.

It's way past midnight when you dare look in her direction again only to let out a muffled curse. The woman's slumped over and when you get closer, hear faint snores coming from her.

“Great,” you mutter and wonder when you last had to manoeuvre a drunken soul back to their home. You look outside and mumble a quiet prayer upon seeing the thick rain and occasional flash of lightning. You have no idea where this woman is from or where she spends the night. It's not like you can simply leave her here either. Grandfather would be furious.

You sigh once, then push away your annoyance and carefully tap the woman's shoulder. She doesn't react. You would bet all your money on this one being a shinobi. She must have been more drunk than you initially assumed.

“Ma'am?” you ask once, then twice, then louder. No reaction. You exhale through your nose, then accept your fate. Moving your hands underneath the stranger's arms, you attempt to lift her out of her chair except she's _heavy_. Her figure itself is slender if one ignores her chest but now that you touch her, you finally notice the dense muscle.

“Not the time,” you remind yourself as you get distracted once more. The journey upstairs is long and tiresome. By the time you dumped the woman in one of the guest rooms, you're exhausted. You roll her over, do what uncle told you to do when someone is drunk and passed out. Trusting that she will be fine, you go back downstairs and prepare to leave when another crack of thunder nearly shakes the earth.

You sigh. Guest room it is. At least you are close to the woman in case she needs help or anything. You've been around enough drunkards to know how needy they can get the morning after. And you're not an ass.

Retreating into another room, you get out of your uniform and slip underneath the covers. You're tired so it takes you very little time to fall asleep.

When you wake, it is still dark. You blink a few times, then yawn and rub your face. It can't have been more than a few hours at most, why did you wake up? You only barely manage to suppress a shriek upon noticing the silhouette leaning against the wall next to your door. Your brain takes a while to get going but eventually you match the form to the drunk stranger.

“D'you need something?” you ask, slurring your words. The woman doesn't speak but pushes herself off the wall and comes closer. You can't help but back away a little.

“How old are you?” Her voice is clear, not at all like that of a drunk person. It's rougher than earlier too, deep and husky. The sound nearly takes your breath away.

“W- what?” you stutter and suddenly she's right there, face mere inches away from yours.

“Lie to me!” she hisses through clenched teeth and you can't keep up, don't know what is going on or what she wants. You stare at her, take in her hooded eyes and the flush you can only barely make out, then to the heavy rise and fall of her chest. The woman's clothing is rumpled and exposes more than would be decent. You can't look away.

“T- Twenty...six...,” you murmur and then suddenly she's right there, everywhere, and while you still don't understand, you stop caring.

She makes you cry, she makes you moan, she makes you _scream_. Her hands are all over your body, worship you and bring you to ruin while her strong arms hold you down and make you helpless. You arch into her every touch, wrap your legs around her waist, then neck as she tongues your cunt in long, languid strokes, bringing you over the edge again and again.

She's ravenous and feeds on you, sates her hunger and guides you between her legs, to her neck, to her fleshy tits as she devours your very being.

She's your be-all and end-all as she takes every last shred of innocence and twists you until you can no longer remember your own name.

She's everything and you are nothing.

When you wake the next morning, body aching for _more_ , she is gone.

You don't ask around, don't look for her, never even try. She left enough money on the counter to cover the drinks and you know exactly what that means. Whoever she is, you will never see her again.

It ruins you, just a little, for anyone who comes after her. She was your first and nobody ever manages to measure up.

You still marry that nice boy next door. He dies before you can bear his children.

Time passes, you grow older and while you never exactly forget, the memory turns into a fond one you keep just out of reach. You never even learned her name so calling her the one who got away would be overly dramatic.

(It still feels like it though.)

You're almost thirty when you finally outgrow the village. It's nothing personal, not really, but a single night ten years ago forever made you hunger for more. Perhaps it's stupid. Your family certainly thinks it is. And it's not like you're chasing after a memory either. You simply wish for... more. To see what else is out there. You heard the nation's ninja village got destroyed in some sort of attack. They need help to rebuild. You know exactly where to go so one early morning, you pack your meagre belongings and join a merchant caravan that passes through your village on the way to Konohagakure.

You feel like you entered an entirely new world. Your eyes are wide and you crane your neck as you stare at everything that goes on around you. True to the stories, the village is a mess of ruins but there's men and women flying above her head, one who grows wood from nothing, others who conjure fire and water and the sight makes your heart soar.

Your smile is radiant as the nice gate guards greet you, jot down your name and then tell you where to report for work. You don't regret leaving behind your normal, boring, comfortable life one bit.

You never considered yourself weak before until you watch shinobi lift logs, huge rocks and erect walls. It's impressive yet you can't help but feel lacking in comparison.

“You must be new around here,” one of them jokes with a charming laugh as you gawk one too many times. You laugh nervously, then nod. He introduces himself as Genma and becomes your first friend in this new and foreign place.

Genma is great company and so are his other friends. All of them are shinobi but you soon make two civilian friends who end up fitting in with the crowd seamlessly. Soon, you're assigned to his command and together you fix whatever you can. Work is hard and gruelling but every bit of progress you make, makes you feel accomplished and satisfied.

Life is harder, but better.

Six months later, a quaint little sake bar opens and some of your friends must have pulled strings because when you put in a request to work as waitress, you're accepted immediately. Construction and cleanup has strengthened your body and mind yet you take to your old occupation like a duck to water. Your laugh comes easy and freely and people must like you for they flock to the bar you work at in spades.

You quickly become a favourite among men and women, shinobi and civilians alike. You're still not the most attractive or the smartest around yet the offers keep coming in. You indulge, occasionally. Still nobody measures up to your most treasured memory though the purple-haired lady with the mask comes close enough that you keep meeting up.

Your thirty-first birthday is a quiet one. Your friends threw a little party yet respected your wishes to keep it small so you still make it to your late night shift at the bar. It's a quiet evening and despite the heavy rain, the interior is almost empty. A few of the regulars are clustered together in a corner yet you have enough time to give the counter a good scrubbing. The night promises to be calm and uneventful until, minutes away from midnight, the curtains part and reveal a new patron.

You look up and only the remedial self defence lessons Genma insisted you take, prevent you from dropping the glass you're holding in shock. Your heart stops beating and all air leaves your lungs as you take in soft blonde hair, red lips you remember on your own and strong muscles that unravelled you so many years ago.

The woman, your stranger, doesn't look at you as she sits down on a bar stool and lazily waves two fingers at you. You take a deep shuddering breath, then force yourself to do your job. It's been twelve years and while she gave you the most precious memory you call your own, you don't dare assume you were more than a simple comfort.

She drinks the same way she used to and you quietly exchange empty bottles for full ones as the hours pass, patrons leave, until it's just the two of you.

“Sunshine. Bring me another.” This time, you drop the rag you're holding as you freeze like a deer. Your ears must have been mistaken. Painfully slowly, you turn around only to find the golden eyes that haunted your dreams for years staring right back at you. She's quiet, doesn't repeat herself. Merely looks at you, patient, unchanged, exactly the same.

You try to ignore the budding warmth in your stomach, attempt to keep the shaking of your hands to a minimum. You do as she asks, then retreat behind the counter once more to busy yourself with mundane tasks.

“How old are you?” You swallow heavily as you still, too terrified to turn around. There is no way you can convince yourself that this is a coincidence anymore. You rub your hands against each other, then finally dare face her.

“Thirty-one,” you reply, voice dry, cheeks red. The woman looks you over, moves from top to bottom, then back to your eyes. Then, the corner of her mouth quirks upwards ever so slightly as she smirks at you.

“Better.”

The next morning you wake with a long forgotten, perfect ache and while she is gone, you know she will return.

(She comes with the rain and leaves with the sunshine, a permanent fixture in your bed that leaves you breathless and with glittering morning dew dripping from your fingertips.)


End file.
